Wardrobe Change
by Iverna
Summary: Following a little accident with baby Neal, Emma tries to fix Killian's wardrobe situation... with decidedly mixed results. A silly fluffy one-shot inspired by THAT shirt. You know the one.


Her first reaction is to laugh.

It earns her a betrayed look from Killian, but Emma can't help it. The sight of Captain Hook, standing in the loft, holding an infant who just spewed half of his lunch onto the pirate's black shirt is just _funny_. Especially since—

"You did say you could handle him," she reminds him, pushing away the book she brought with her for this impromptu babysitting session. The book that he insisted she could keep reading while he looked after the screaming child, because after all, she's the one who has magic to study while he has little to do but keep her company.

"I'm _handling_ him just fine," he says defensively, and she has to concede that aside from this little mishap it all went fine. And despite his words, there's a note of fondness on his handsome features when he looks down at the guileless boy in his arms. "It's hardly my fault that the lad can't hold his drink. I'd wager he takes after his father in that regard."

"Please don't let his father hear you say that," Emma says with a sigh. "The last thing we need is for him to challenge you to another drinking contest to salvage his pride."

Killian lifts a dark eyebrow and smirks. "I don't think there's any left to salvage after last time."

"Probably not." Emma peers at his shirt. "But we should try to salvage that. Here, I'll hold Neal, you take that off and throw it in the sink in the bathroom. I'll get you one of D—"

"Hold up, love," he says, moving back a little. "There _is_ another way."

She frowns, but catches on when she sees the look on his face. "Are you serious?"

He points at the book. "What better way to put your lessons to use?"

"Yeah, but that's..." She's read about it. She thinks that she understands the theory, but she also knows that she can't be sure of that until she's tried it. It definitely doesn't sound simple. She waves a hand. "You know, that's a big deal. That's proper magic."

He shrugs. "So is blasting a Snow Queen across the clearing."

She glances back down at the book, and she can feel a little stirring of excitement now as the idea begins to take hold. Still, she hesitates. "I'm not sure I'm ready for that."

There's a challenge gleaming in his eyes now. "One way to find out, love."

She only gives him a tight smile, still hesitant, and his expression softens. "Come on. Give it a go. At worst, it won't work and I'll have to get changed the old-fashioned way."

Emma considers it for another moment. It's tempting her now, taking hold inside her. Killian has turned out to be really damn good at that, giving her ideas and challenges and making her feel like she can actually do all of them. She no longer wonders how he managed to persuade an entire crew to mutiny. He's good at that, at lighting a spark and making it jump onto others around him.

And he's right: the worst that can happen is nothing.

She nods. "Okay. Fine. Just... put the baby down first. Just in case."

Despite that slightly ominous warning, Killian doesn't look nervous as he settles Neal back in his crib and straightens up. He has a lot of reasons to – has more reason than most to fear or avoid magic, in fact – but here he is, looking _happy _to be her lab rat. He trusts her. Sometimes, Emma thinks that he trusts her more than she trusts herself.

"Ready?" she asks.

He's steady, eyes intent on her face, full of encouragement. "Aye."

She blows out a breath. "Okay." She flexes her arms and fingers, for no real reason other than it makes her _feel_ like she's getting ready for something. Letting her eyes fall shut, she feels her brow furrow as she concentrates. The feel of magic is almost familiar now, but this is something she's never done before. It's the same principle as moving a mug of cocoa, but it requires more precision, and she has to move two things, replacing one with the other.

Picturing Killian in her mind, with her magic, is easy; she knows him, and he's right here. She's less sure about the shirt, but she ploughs forward anyway, a mixture of remembered theory and instinct guiding her actions.

There's a bright glow that makes her open her eyes, just in time to see Killian enveloped in silvery light. It lasts for perhaps a second, barely longer than a lightning strike, and winks out without any ceremony.

And Killian is wearing a different shirt.

Emma's eyes widen, both at her rather unexpected success and at the also rather unexpected shirt. It's tucked neatly under his black waistcoat with the top three buttons open, exactly like she envisioned, but she realises that she probably should have envisioned the shirt itself in a little more detail.

It's dark, that part is right. But instead of the plain black or blue she vaguely imagined, it has a violet floral print and a sheer, almost silky finish.

Killian lifts an arm and inspects it. "Well, that's different."

"Sorry," Emma says, remembering herself. "I don't... that's not exactly what I was going for." It's not his style; she's not sure it's really anyone's style, although she'll admit to not knowing a whole lot about men's fashion. It doesn't exactly scream rock-star, though. She feels, vaguely, that there ought to be a hat to go with it, possibly with pinstripes.

Killian doesn't seem overly bothered. "Right on target, though," he says with a proud grin, giving the collar a little tug. "See? You can do it."

Something seems to occur to him then, because he frowns and looks around. "Dare I ask where the old one is?"

"It should be in the bathroom." Emma hurries in to check, and finds the shirt in a heap in the sink, exactly as she'd intended. She and rinses it out before throwing it into the washing basket, and steps back into the main living area with a triumphant smile. "Yep. I've put it in the wash, but that'll take a while."

He grins again. "Well, colour me impressed, love."

Her chest stirs with pride, but she reminds herself that this was an experiment and she really needs to treat it like one. "So how'd it feel?"

"I felt about as much as when the crocodile turned me into a prince," he says, with a little grimace at the memory. "Which is to say, nothing of note. A little warmer, perhaps."

She frowns. "Warmer?"

"Aye." He thinks back, eyes shifting. "Rather like when the sun comes out briefly on a cloudy day. Could be due to the light, perhaps?"

"Could be." It's another thing to ask Regina about, and Emma makes a note of it. Before she can ask another question, there's a knock on the door. It's Ruby, here to replace them, because this is still Storybrooke and there's no way the Saviour can have a full day where the most exciting thing to happen is babysitting her little brother with Captain Hook.

When they arrive at Granny's, David is sitting alone, holding an ice pack to his head and glaring at the table.

"You okay?" Emma demands. "What's going on?"

"Will Scarlet is what's going on," David says. "I'm fine. But we have to find him. And make sure to keep him locked up this time."

Killian gives the prince a curious, slightly too innocent, look. "What happened to you, mate?"

"He caught me by surprise," David says, rather reluctantly. But his expression changes when he looks at Killian. "What happened to _you_?"

Emma makes a face, but Killian doesn't seem the least bit embarrassed. "A little magic," he says with a smug grin. It falters a little at David's renewed glare. "I'm not being poetic, mate, I mean it literally. Your son made rather a mess of my shirt, and we took the opportunity for Emma to practice a new spell."

David looks amused now as he turns to Emma. "That was your idea?"

"The shirt was no one's idea," she says a little defensively. "It just happened. I forgot to pay attention to that part."

David has more comments to make, all good-humoured, clearly happy to have something new to needle the pirate about. They spend the next few hours tracking and apprehending Will Scarlet, and not once does Emma catch Killian looking embarrassed. In fact, he looks nothing but proud every time someone brings it up, and she realises that the shirt itself is far less important to him than the matter of how he got it.

It would be sappy if he weren't so damn matter-of-fact about it. He doesn't say it, either, just laughs at David's quips and returns them in kind, offers to take the shirt off with a wink, grins proudly when Granny and later Grumpy give him an odd look. And Emma has to admit that, unexpected and unintended as the shirt is, he actually manages to pull it off.

It doesn't stop her from hauling him into her room much later, and informing him that the shirt offends her and that she intends to remove it. Without magic, this time.


End file.
